


Crapshoot

by smallerthanzero



Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, but that's kind of the point, if you're looking for an actual craps game then friend you are in the wrong place, set during Quest to Sleepy Peak Peak, there's some language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 21:52:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11814918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallerthanzero/pseuds/smallerthanzero
Summary: In which Max and the other campersnotembroiled in a quest of magical destiny enjoy a friendly game of craps.





	Crapshoot

**Author's Note:**

> Was watching the Camp Camp RTX 2017 panel and this popped into my head.  
> Disclaimer: I’ve never actually played a game of craps before.

_CLACK._

Six preteens watched with bated breath as the pair of dice rebounded off the wooden table. They kept moving, bouncing again over an unidentifiable stain and some suspiciously deep gouges in the heavy planks, and finally tumbled to a stop with a three and two facing upwards.

As with the past four rounds, Max was the first to slam his hand down. The sound echoed through the mess hall as the other campers leaned in.

He leaned in too, already grinning in victory. “Fuck this shit, dumbass.”

The table erupted into cheers and applause – everyone except Nurf, but even he looked grudgingly impressed. “How do you _do_ it, Max?” Space Kid asked. “I can’t even _think_ that fast!”

“It’s an art, Space Kid. One cultivated over years of letting the world know that I hate it.” Max slouched further onto his elbows and smirked at Nurf. He was the only player left who had a chance at making a comeback, and therefore the only one Max bothered to rile up. “Five syllables, three curses, and it took me like two seconds to come up with. Looks like you’re low on money _and_ brain cells.”

Nurf slammed his fist against the table. “Just because I’m a troubled child doesn’t mean I’ve been exposed to inappropriate language! Abuse can take many forms!” He sprang to his feet, looking about ready to leap over the table and give Max a first-hand lesson in some of those forms, but was thwarted as the bottom half of the Sparrow Staff was pressed into his chest. “And how come you get a fancy hat and a stick?”

Max rolled his eyes, straightening his green plastic visor. “Because I’m the _stickman_ , moron. Every game of craps has a sharply-dressed guy with a stick. And if you don’t sit down, you’re gonna find out what it’s for.” 

Nurf sat down. “Fine. Keep encouraging the impressionable youth to pursue vulgarity, gambling, and other activities frowned upon by society.”

“Yeah, yeah. Cough up the cash, Nurf.” Nurf reluctantly pushed the three one-dollar-bills in the center of the table towards Max, who was eyeing the other players’ stacks. There were only two other campers with money left to bet with - Nurf only had two dollars left, and Preston’s emergency cab fare had dwindled to a single green bill. 

Yep, this was going to be an easy win.

“Are you sure we are playing correctly?” Dolph asked from the sidelines. He apparently knew a lot of curse words, but they were all in German and therefore inadmissible in Max’s invented rulebook. “I thought there were lines, and chips - perhaps we should look up the instructions?”

“Sure, you can look them up - if you want to wait five hours for that shit to load! We’re in the mess hall! David could come in at any minute and bust up my attempt to give you idiots a fair chance to make some cash. And it’s called _craps_ , what the hell else do you think it’s going to be about?”

“Whatever,” Ered added from her position behind Dolph, leaning on a pillar with her earbuds in and one leg kicked up behind her. “This is cooler anyway.”

Space Kid nodded frantically from beside them. “Yeah, this is fun! I’m learning so much!”

Max decided it was high time to reel these suckers back in. “There we go. Nurf, your roll. Remember, in craps you gotta _throw_ the dice, not just roll it. If it doesn’t bounce off something, then you have to roll again.”

Nurf growled and hurled the dice at the table, where they shot off in opposite directions. Space Kid caught one before it hit the ground - “whoa, you almost hit my helmet! Like an asteroid!” – and the other flew just over Dolph’s head, ruffling his hair and landing directly in Ered’s outstretched palm.

When deposited back on the table, both had rolled to a six. 

“Twelve syllables,” Max muttered, mouthing words to himself.

A hand slammed down on the table. 

Max’s head jerked up, following the attached arm up to a puffed green sleeve. “Oh, this’ll be good.”

Preston clambered up to stand on the bench, one arm raised as he prepared to declaim. 

“You diminutive caddis-garter, whoreson cur!”

There was a moment of stunned silence. Ered pulled out one of her earbuds.

Max was the first one to escape the stupor. “What. The hell. Is a _caddis-garter_?”

Preston shrugged. “Really cheap socks, I think.”

“How is that an insult?”

“It’s a classic! From the Bard himself!”

Ered cleared her throat. “So that’s, like, twelve syllables and four insults. Nice.”

“Four?” Preston said. He was still standing on the bench.

“Ya!” Dolph jumped in. “Cur, whoreson, uh, kindergarten, and –“

“Diminutive,” Nurf added, shaking his head. “Wow. Didn’t know you had that kind of hate in you, man.”

“What? That’s not –“

“Yeah,” Max said, still a little shell-shocked. “That was… damn.”

“Uh. Yes. It’s the worst word I know. I can’t believe I said it aloud! The horror!” Preston cried, closing his eyes and dramatically sinking back into his seat. 

“You okay there, dude?”

One eye cracked open. “So I get the pot, right?” 

Max repositioned his visor. “Alright. Let’s wrap this up. Preston, your roll.”

Preston picked up the dice, took a deep breath, and flung them as hard as he could. 

They missed the table entirely, flying across the huddle to hit Space Kid smack in the helmet. He flailed wildly, tipping backwards off the bench, and they all winced at the twin _thunks_ of a helmet hitting the ground and a head hitting the inside of a helmet. 

Preston blinked. “Well, I guess it bounced off something?” 

Nurf craned his neck. “He rolled an eight!”

Nurf had his hand raised, ready to slap the table, when the screaming outside went from normal to apocalyptic. Max jumped to his feet. “Shit, that’s Nikki! – uh, I mean, sounds like entertainment. I guess I should see what’s going on.” 

And now Nurf was screaming too, demanding that he get his turn to take Max’s money. Time to make like Kenny Rogers and fold it.

Max grabbed his cash, stuffed it into his hoodie pocket, and tipped his visor at the others as he headed for the door, only stopping to toss one last remark over his shoulder.

“Good game, gentlemen. Better luck next time.”


End file.
